


Encursive

by shinychimera



Series: Gravity Series [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/shinychimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim fails to write Bones a love letter.</p><p> </p><p>Encursive (neologism, adj.) The opposite of excursive or discursive, i.e., wandering out of bounds — "to put or draw into" or "cause to be" cursive.</p><p>Cursive (adj.) 1. Running together, as in handwriting. 2. Flowing, fluent, easy, relaxed, as in a productive discussion. 3. Interior, internal, within bounds. 4. On course, staying the course for the long term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abigail89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/gifts), [Yeomanrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/gifts).



> Written for the [Jim_and_Bones](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com) community's [Love Letters Flash Challenge](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/773026.html), for the prompt "Dear Bones--I'm bad at this sort of thing...."
> 
> The quote Leonard uses is from [Clarence E. Flynn](http://coolquotescollection.com/10779/the-sunset-is-the-promise-of-the-sunrise-the-darkness-is-the-promise-of-the). The poem Jim uses is "[It’s good to feel you are close to me](http://allpoetry.com/poem/8496943-It_s_good_to_feel_you_are_close_to_me-by-Pablo_Neruda)" by Pablo Neruda.

Music rises softly from the computer, and Leonard wakes alone for the first time in months; his heartrate goes into overdrive and he sits up before remembering the _Enterprise_ had been due to arrive in the next solar system during the early morning hours. Reassured, he listens with a smile to the thousand-and-first doctor song that clever Jim has found for him (a catchy Andorian cover of "Bad Case of Loving You") while he gets ready for his shift in Sickbay.

Leonard waits for the end of the day — _"The need is promise of its own supply. The plodding is the promise of arrival, and patience finds its answer by and by."_ He visits the bridge only once, knows from one slightly-longer-than-usual look that Jim hasn't forgotten their anniversary — or rather, he hasn't forgotten to put it high on his list of priorities. That day by the Pacific Ocean when they'd finally settled into a stable orbit remains important to them both, but Leonard's long since accepted that contrary to the quick jovial smiles he crafts for the daytime, most of Jim's deep feelings are internal, expressed only through conscious effort or sweet voiceless touch in the night.

Leonard loves him for his brilliance _and_ his blind spots, though, and he's content to let preoccupied Jim concentrate on planetary matters for the day, to offer his opinion on crew performance over dinner, and wait until they're alone in their quarters for need and devotion and significance to flare into feverish passion. Leonard breathlessly lowers the lights and calls up a flickering holo-flame on their candle; Jim strips them both, and says all he needs to say with his silent silver tongue. 

When at last they are both spent, Leonard watches Jim fall asleep, never taking for granted the satisfaction of sharing their bed — the trust Jim shows by allowing Leonard into the austerely organized refuge his quicksilver mind requires in order to sleep. He "belongs" in Jim's space now, and these days it's Leonard who can sometimes slip unnoticed out of the bed, attend to his needs in the head, and return to gather up their scattered clothing and restore harmony for Jim.

He picks up Jim's trousers and a small bundle drops to the deck — Leonard frowns, reaching for the rectangle of folded paper, strangely out of place out here in the black. He unfolds the sheet, weighty and textured but crumpled and smoothed again, folded into eighths many times, and covered on both sides with spidery script; he has to tilt it into the candlelight to make out the words.

  
Dear Bones--

I'm bad at this sort of thing.... and I know you know how I feel about you but I can't help ~~trying to~~ wanting to find a better way to ~~push the love in my~~ ~~to transport~~ to carry

ܨ

Dear Bones -- 

Happy anniversary! I love you! I am writing stupid things that mean so much more when I'm face to face with you! This is not how a love letter is supposed to go! Why am I ~~wasting~~ using real paper to write trite or obvious things, things you hear every day, things you are not going to want to read over and over? 

Words matter to you, and I know you understand that words & feelings are hard for me, that  
    ~~This is not about you, shithead.~~

ܓܕܚܨ

Dear Bones, 

~~You are brilliant and beautiful and snarky and brave and cranky and gentle and magnificent and patient with all my~~  
      ~~Still not about you.~~

ܕܨ

Dear Bones -

~~You are the fulcrum of my life. You balance everything right and wrong with me with everything that's right and wrong about you; you are the positive primes to my imaginary~~  


And on the back:

  
Dear Bones :

  
It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,  
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,  
while I untangle my worries  
as if they were twisted nets.

Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,  
but your body, relinquished so, breathes  
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream  
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.

Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,  
but from the frontiers lost in the night,  
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,

something remains, drawing us into the light of life  
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed  
its secret creatures with flame.  
     Pablo Neruda

~~They're someone else's words but maybe you can pretend they're~~

ܚ

Dear Bones —

   I wish I were a poem, made of words, so I could curl up with all the other poems in your brain. So I could always be there with you. So I could comfort you on a dark day, speak for you on a happy day, shine behind your eyes on a wonderful day, dive off the tip of your tongue to stun everyone around you with the illogical power of describing what you feel in exactly the perfect beautiful jumble of unexpected words.

    I 'm not a poem and I am not a poet and I am intensely in love with you anyway. Will you please live long and prosper with me?

Love, Jim

  


Leonard swallows, and swallows again. Looks at the sleeping lump of Jim on the bed, the familiar tousle of blond hair just visible over the top of the blanket, ever and always surprised by the restless depths beneath those still waters.

Awash in amazement at the effort Jim has put into expressing himself, Leonard drops the clothes in the cleaner, arranges the letter symmetrically behind the faux candle, then snuffs the light with a silent touch. Wonders whether there's a polished final draft waiting for him somewhere, or if Jim considers his attempts at letter-writing a failure, too flawed to offer up. Heartstrings hooked by the tug of Jim's strange gravity, half choked-up and half smiling, Leonard slides back beneath the blanket, snugs up behind Jim, nuzzles softly against his ear.

"Dear Jim, diligent Jim, beloved Jim," Leonard whispers, and Jim rouses a little, shifting inquisitively. " _'Promises made in words may break and fail us. Promises written down may not endure. But promises recorded in the silence that dwells in life's reality are sure.'_ I love your words. I love your silences. And I intend to prosper with you as long as we live."

Jim's breath catches and he rolls in Leonard's arms, uncertain words hovering around a second inhalation, but Leonard brushes their lips together in the dark, needing no more than Jim's aspiration and intent. They grasp each other, bodies pressed close, urgent lips and palms and fingers drawing them together — all their fervor and fidelity surging into the kiss and inscribing the promise on their silent hearts.

❧


	2. (Images of Jim's letters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A non-image but still-scripty version, with a slightly more legible handwriting font, is available as [a published Google Doc](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XpQUw0B8e4ePLpPuXQ_D9sgW_oai__J4JNXl667BrT8/pub).
> 
> Images created by Shinychimera using Pixlr, the "Fountain Pen Frenzy" font, and [this paper texture](http://spiketheswede.deviantart.com/art/Paper-Texture-2-135238697) by SPikEtheSWeDe at DeviantArt. Thank you!

Front:  
[](http://s4.beta.photobucket.com/user/shinychimera/media/Star_Trek/Fic%20Illustrations/Encursive/JimsLoveLetterside1_zpse5b50b90.png.html)

 

Back:  
[](http://s4.beta.photobucket.com/user/shinychimera/media/Star_Trek/Fic%20Illustrations/Encursive/JimsLoveLetterside2_zpsedaf44c8.png.html)


End file.
